Rooms
by Anney
Summary: There's more rooms than he ever bothered to count. Siriuscentric.


_Title:_ Rooms  
_Disclaimer:_No own.  
_Word Count (at livejournal):_ 802  
_A/N:_ Let's just count this as being totally AU and pure speculation. No spoilers for anything because, as of right this moment, I still haven't read the 6th book. There are parts that I'm unhappy with, so if you could let me know what you think if you read it I'd be thankful. No beta. I can be reached via email at anney(underscore)kun2(at)yahoo(dot)com.  
_Summary:_ There's more rooms than he ever bothered to count. 

()()()()()()()()

There's more rooms than he ever bothered to count. Bedrooms, bathrooms, rooms full of books and others full of dust. Rooms that are locked against the children, some locked against those not related, and even more rooms that are locked against the Ministry. Rooms that hide things, some that flaunt things, and even more that do both. There's secret walk ways in between some rooms and if you know the right password, the right want movement there's a passage out of the house to somewhere he's never been.

He grows up into a man that is a disgrace to everyone he's related to and sometimes he thinks that maybe he should have felt it somewhere inside when they burned his name away. He might not agree with what they spoke or thought but his blood is still the deep blue of pure nobility and the one thing he can never forget is just how pure it is. His mother called him every foul name she could think of when she crossed his path, he always found it funny how in public she did it with a smile so clever it hid the poison. She was wondrous in all the hidden things she could say.

He grows up to be a murderer and is locked away for the crimes he committed and right before the transfer into his new home his mother visits. A short visit where she stands out of reach in black on black on black and she tells him with her words just how disappointed she is in him but her eyes are cold and unfeeling. The last time he sees her alive her mouth is an artful frown of sadness and hurt while her eyes are nothing at all. The last memory he has of her is her back as she walks away. She always had the perfect pure blood posture of a lady.

He gets old locked away in a hell that's not and at first he thinks of things he wants to forget. Then he forgets what he's trying not to remember and he remembers everything. The last thing he remembers is that he's really a dog. He howls at the moon and paces in circles and thinks that he's so glad to be colorblind. He watches the man across the hall carve words into his forearms that bleed grey and black and tastes copper when he breathes in and out. Eventually, after more time than he can feel pass by, he thinks about the people he killed and the baby they left behind. From then on he howls out a name into the sky no matter the time. Shouts and howls and pain-filled whimpers that all say one thing. One name.

He escapes on wobbly, under fed, skinny skinny legs into the ocean that's cold and awful. He finds his way on land that he had forgotten and slowly makes his way to a house where he curls into a black mass hidden under bushes across the street and he watches a boy. A boy that is yelled at, that is beautiful, that spends time locked in a bedroom doing magic in darkness. He hides in plain sight and spends his time trying to remember what color is like.

He follows behind like the faithful dog, man, that he is and spends more time trying to forget what color is like. Life is more painful that he dreamed it would be and he's hated for something he never really did. Or maybe he did in a way. The gaps are hard to fill after so much time and now he can't remember how clever he was back then.  
He finally, after years or forgetting and remembering and more forgetting only to remember, finds the perfect rat and another friend only to almost die and escape again. He comes full circle. Locked away in hell again, only it's different. He has visitors and no more locked doors. Now his punishment is to clean up the mess his family, not-family, made all those years ago.

He finds himself torn between two things in this prison-house. One is his mother; his mother who no longer calls him names so cleverly hidden. She yells out all the things she never said in public. His blood is just as pure as it had always been and sometimes he shocks himself into realizing just how much of her son he is because he shouts back just as loud and just as hateful and he doesn't bother to hide his insults behind clever words either. He thinks he might have loved this woman a long long time ago but he's forgotten it. The second is a tree full of names that's been hidden away before his visitors could come along to gawk at all the family he doesn't have. He stands and runs his fingers across the place that should be his and wonders where the burn mark is on his body.

(end)


End file.
